


An Eye for an Eye...

by ScaryScarecrows



Series: Garage Tapes [13]
Category: Gotham City Garage (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Jason is a gang leader, Torture, he's here for moral support, raised in a mob, the only reason Antoine's not more involved is because he's drugged and broken
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-11-02 08:43:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20688056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScaryScarecrows/pseuds/ScaryScarecrows
Summary: “Look,” he says frantically, “I don’t really know anything--”“Oh, I’m not after intel,” Todd says, voice light and friendly. “I’m sending a message. I don’t like it when people try to kill me. It hurts my feelings.”





	An Eye for an Eye...

**Author's Note:**

> Aftermath of ‘Reach Down’. Nobody’s very happy about it. Somebody’s gotta suffer.

Kevin Orzatta isn’t expecting to be set upon by a biker gang.

Okay. That’s a little bit of a lie. He’s  **mostly** not expecting it, but it’s not entirely a surprise; it’s always a possibility. He just thought he’d had his timing right, especially after the incident with what Lex had lovingly dubbed ‘Killer Croc’.

But apparently not. Croc had, according to reports, taken the Hoods’ leader down with him. That’s done nothing to stop the rest of them from coming out of absolutely nowhere, taking him hostage, and dragging him back to their base.

Scouting is dangerous and he regrets volunteering to do it. How long will it take for someone to notice he’s missing?

They arrive in what looks like an old military compound. Kevin’s unceremoniously dumped in the dirt and one of his captors, a youngish guy with coke-bottle glasses and a goatee, shouts, “Hey! We brought you boys a get-well present!”

Huh.

The man that steps out from one of the buildings has his arm in a cast and a nasty bruise spreading over half of his face. There’s a sketchbook cradled in the crook of his elbow and his good hand has a green pencil in it.

“What the hell?”

“One’a Luthor’s scouts,” Goatee says. “Since you’re banned from having fun with the rest of us, we thought we’d bring the fun to you.”

Broken Arm raises an eyebrow.

“Boss is on the phone,” he says and wait. Boss? They got a new one already? “Put him somewhere for now, I guess. Make sure he doesn’t die of heatstroke.”

“Serve him right,” Goatee grumbles, then, “C’mon, asshole, let’s go.”

* * *

Kevin’s been duct-taped to this chair for an hour when the door swings open. Broken Arm is here. So is--

\--oh, shit.

“You’re supposed to be dead!”

“Been dead, done that.” The grin Todd gives him is sharp and unfriendly. Broken Arm sighs.

“Really.”

“I saw an opening and I took it.”

They pull up chairs of their own as the door closes. Kevin would like to say he’s not scared of these punkasses, but, well...he is. Todd’s got a nasty reputation, and he doesn’t know the other guy at all. Maybe he’s the Torture Tech or something.

“Look,” he says frantically, “I don’t really know anything--”

“Oh, I’m not after intel,” Todd says, voice light and friendly. “I’m sending a message. I don’t  **like** it when people try to kill me. It hurts my  **feelings** .”

“Look, man,” he says, thinking maybe he can still make nice, “I had nothing to do with that. I swear.”

Todd leans forward, arms propped on his knees.

“No?” No. “Let’s make sure.”

What?

Todd glances down. Kevin follows his eyes and  **that’s** when he sees the knife jutting out of his left knee.

“I don’t know if it’s my speed or the sharpness of my blade, but most don’t even feel it go in,” Todd says, still light and friendly, still smiling politely. “It won’t hurt unless I move it, now.”

“Oh God--”

“I’ve never actually done this before,” Todd continues. “So it might take me a try or two to get it right...you wouldn’t know the right angle to pop that loose, would you?”

WHAT.

Broken Arm squints.

“No, but it might come back to me?”

“Fair enough. That can wait.” He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “Your exalted leader’s been messing around with genetics...damn it, I used to know the angle. It’s bugging the hell outta me...you’re sure you don’t remember?”

“Mark said I could take the horse pills or he’d come at me with a needle,” Broken Arm says apologetically. “My head’s fogged out.”

Todd frowns, then lights back up and digs out a beat-to-shit...phone.

“Hang on. If he screams, smack the knife-hey, Ma?” WHAT. “No, no, I’m good. I need a thing. Um. You know that trick Uncle O used ta do? The knife and the kneecap one-I was like thirteen when he showed it to me, it’s fine-no, he didn’t let me  **do** it-no-no, D, listen. D. I can’t remember the angle, and it’s bugging the shit out of me. You wouldn’t know it, would you-okay. Okay, thanks. Yeah, yeah, love you too. Mm-hm. Bye.” He hangs up and squints at the knife. “She says thirty degrees.”

“I might be loopy, but that’s not thirty.”

“No. Darn.” He sits up, tilts his head side-to-side, and sighs. “I can’t shove it, I gotta pull it out and redo.  **Ugh** , this was going so well…”

“No-no-no- **ARGH!** ”

He may not have felt it go in, but he feels it go out, sharp metal sliding against the tendons and the tip nicking the bone. He’s still gasping through the pain when Todd jabs the knife back in at a slightly different angle.

“There we go-yeah, that looks more right to me. You?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s more like it.” He rubs his hands together. “If it helps at all, you’re not gonna die today. Unless I fuck something up. You’re not  **supposed** to die today.”

“What the  **fuck** is wrong with you?”

“Attempted murder is hurtful. Keep up. Anyways, you might not walk right again, but, well…”

“Relax your muscles, man,” Broken Arm says. “That might help, I don’t know. This has never happened to me, actually.”

“No? I thought this did happen to you.”

“No, someone hit me at the wrong angle and popped it outta the socket.”

“Ohh.” Todd rolls his neck. “Welp, let’s see if D was right. Deep breath, buttercup!”

“No-no, please, I can give you informaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIII-!”

There’s a horrible tearing noise and white-hot pain bursts in his knee. He sags forward as far as the tape will let him, trying desperately to pass out.

“Look at that, it worked.” The knife wiggles a little and Kevin yelps, tries to draw away. That only makes everything hurt more. “Think I should take anything off?”

Broken Arm hums and there’s the  _ creak _ of his chair being tilted back.

“Mark can totally keep him from dying if you hack off a finger.”

“That’s fair.” Todd rips the knife out of his knee, wipes it off on Kevin’s sweaty jacket, and stands up. Pats him on the shoulder. Says, voice warm, “You’re gonna go back, and you’re gonna tell your friends that the next time they pull that shit, I’ll be knocking on their door. S’that clear?”

“Please--”

“I  **said** , is that clear?”

Oh, God--

“Yes?”

“Good.” He smiles. “Don’t worry. I’ve done this a lotta times.”

“No-no- **please** - ** _noooAGH!_ ** ”

THE END

  
  
  
  
  


*This is straight-up pulled out of  _ The Last of Us _ . No, I don’t know the actual angle, or if it even matters. (I would have cared more, but those  **fuckers** had my  **kid** and I was mad. Sue me.)


End file.
